Broken
by Gnine
Summary: Anything can break, but then what happens to the pieces?


Hi, this is me...damning myself. *sigh* Ah well, it just WOULD NOT leave me alone, had to write it so I could actually go to sleep the other night. I blame neechan (X-parrot) for starting the conversation that led to this fic... 

Warnings: err, dark, probably depressing, I like fluffy GB stuff, I reeeallly do, I just, um...have no clue where this came from. *sigh* Ban hates me now. *hangs head* Don't kill me? Please? C & C welcome... 

_Broken_

By Gnine 

"They say you're the best. I need the best," the woman began without preamble as she strode into his office. Even as he attempted to maintain a professional mindset, the first words that leapt to mind were: _so big_. 

"Please help him," the man following her finished. Not a couple, that was clear even in a brief glimpse of interaction. Friends or coworkers perhaps, joined by mutual need. 

The 'him' in question came bouncing in moment later. Fairly tall, young, early twenties with dyed blond hair, though it looked natural, no roots showing. His clothes displayed a lack of concern for appearance, mismatched and unkempt. 

He gestured for them all to take a seat, but the young man's shorts had barely brushed the worn leather before he was up and about again. Wandering around the room, nothing holding his focus for more than a few seconds, it quickly became clear why this young man had been brought to him by his friends. 

It was the same name, over and over, used first to address a chair, a lamp, the inkblot test hanging by the window. The tone shifted as much as the young man's hyperactive body, one moment excited, the next remorseful, then joking. 

Two pairs of sad eyes watched their friend's antics, unsurprised, obviously familiar with the behavior, and yet still the woman winced every time the name was said, her manicured hands twitching in her lap. Like an injured animal, a hurt wolf, the man just hunched, while over and over his lips turned down as if to frown, or maybe growl. 

"Could you perhaps come take a seat, Mr..." he trailed off, and the woman provided their names, adding an apology as she made hasty introductions. Jotting the three names down, his patient's (for he had already decided to take on the case) made him pause. It seemed vaguely familiar, as though he had come across it before in passing. A question for a later time. 

His request was futile, however, not unheard but barely heeded, now or in the many session to follow. Never more than a few moments would the young man remain still, always in motion, always in conversation. Yet he gestured to a figure unseen, addressed a voice unheard. 

He took it slow, relying on the friends to provide the necessary history his patient would not, or perhaps could not. Loss could do curious things, he had seen everything before, knew to proceed with caution. And so, slowly, he brought the young man closer to the tragic events, closer to reality. 

He was feeling satisfaction at the progress, at no longer needing the others always there, of the short conversations that were between just the two of them and not a third, not an illusion or a memory. He was close, very close. 

And then there was the breakthrough, or perhaps the breakdown. The man was finally still, stock still, motionless in the center of the room and yet he was no man at all, more like a lost child. And the name was on his lips again, so familiar now after he had heard it repeated for so many weeks. But this time it was different, not spoken or shouted or laughed, but torn from deep inside. 

And with it tore the sky, and lightning flashed, illuminating the office, and he suddenly remembered where he had heard his patient's name before. No emperor stood before him now, however, just the shadow of a life. 

"He said to keep going, but I just don't know how." 

The words were quiet, barely a whisper, the speaker too lost to be able to truly find his voice. But under the blond spikes, brown eyes were raised, and for the first time he realized that in all these weeks he had never really looked into those depths before. One had to wonder how anything could be alive, with eyes so dead. 

He healed minds for money, had been thanked profusely for healing hearts, but how did one repair a soul? Never a pious man, often he was one to question even the existence of such a thing, but now the evidence stood before him, only it was broken, torn in two. And all he could do was sit and watch as the tears rolled down the ashen cheeks like the rain streaking down the window. 

Regret filled him, for he knew now that some things could never be fixed, and some illusions were better kept in place, some memories left unbroken. 

Unsure, uncertain, he waited. And as with any storm, the clouds cleared, the tears stopped falling, and with the sun came a smile that lit up the room. And one gloved hand slowly raised, as if clasping another's in the air. 

"Ban-chan," and the name was on those lips again, reality once more lost, the memory restored, and along with it the soul, and it went against all he knew, all he had been taught, and yet who was he to interfere? 

_owari_


End file.
